HOLLY MIRANDA SMALE

Writer, photographer, "rapper" and general technophobe takes on the internet in what could be a very, very messy fight. But it's alright: she's harder than she looks, and she's wearing every single ring she could get her hands on.







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Tuesday, 31 March 2009

Learning to fly

I'm concerned about your love life, my friend emailed me today. You're constantly swooping in to save the bird with the broken wing, and I'm just getting really fed up of watching the bird peck you, flap in your face a bit and then waddle off to do a poo in the corner.

I know, I emailed back, sniggering a little bit (I love the way she makes animals people. It's one of my favourite things about her). I can't help it. So what do I do?

Be a little more cautious before you pick them up, she replied. Don't assume that if they're squawking, it's because they're hurt. Don't assume that it's your job to fix them. Let them do a poo in their own bloody corner, and - if you can - try and find a healthy one. Okay?

Gotcha, I emailed back.

And that's the great thing about mates. If you can't stop looking for broken wings, at least they can try and guide you towards the birds that can still fly properly.